On the Death of an Untried Soldier

He died in armor, died with lance in rest.
The trumpet had not sounded for the charge;
Yet shall his guerdon of golden fame be large,
For he was ready; he had met his test.

No sacrifice is more complete and clean
Than that in the locked soul, secret and still.
Take for a visible deed the perfect will;
Crown with sad pride the accomplishment unseen.

Hang his bright arms undinted on the wall.
In all brave colors whereto his dreams aspired
Blazon his blank shield as his heart desired,
And write above: “The readiness is all.”